


Hush, Lance...Don't Cry

by jaxass



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: (well it’s more like implied rape/non-con), Angsty Klancy, Cuban Lance (Voltron), Fluff, Happy Ending, Korean Keith (Voltron), Lance has an asshole uncle, Lotor (Voltron) - Freeform, M/M, Texan Keith (Voltron), Threats of Rape/Non-Con, klance, y’all’re welcome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-18
Updated: 2018-08-16
Packaged: 2019-01-19 07:04:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12405453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaxass/pseuds/jaxass
Summary: Lance's family dies in a crash, and Keith is there to help, six years later.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't even write this, my friend did. I just edited (spent a whole day editing it for him lmao)

It was just a normal day for Lance McClain. Heading for his next lesson, social studies, he was the last to arrive at the classroom. All heads turned to him as he took his seat at the back of the class. The teacher, Mr Red, started speaking. "Okay, class. Today we have a visitor here today to talk to you about road safety. Please be nice and don’t mess around. This is crucial information, so listen." He explained to the class. He pointed to the man stood next to him. "This is Mr Holt. He will be talking to you today while I mark papers at my desk. I don't want to have to interrupt him because of selfish kids, so behave." The man walked to the front of the classroom, he was tall, greying hair and honey eyes. "Okay everyone. The first thing I will be talking about is..." His words started to turn into nothingness as Lance zoned out. Mr Holt showed the occupants of the classroom a picture of a car crash, triggering something in Lance's head, thinking back to the incident. Coming in waves of painful memories, his worn-down brain breaking down even more, Lance knew he was in for a long, depressing day.

It was him and his parents, driving while laughing. That was until a flash of blinding light appeared, a lorry hitting the side of the car. Another flash of blinding light. Screaming. One more piercing white light. Car flipping upside down, Lance screaming, pained tears running down his face. He wanted his family, his mom and dad to know that he loved them, that he was sorry for anything he did wrong in his life. Searching around the car, blood running to his brain, he saw what had been the source of his nightmares for years. The two people he loved most in the world, chest no longer rising, breathing non-existent.

When Lances flashbacks were over, the whole class was staring at him. Mr Holt was calling his name. "Lance, what's wrong?" He asked, concern laced in his voice. The Cuban boy had only just realized tears were streaming from his eyes; he took a mental note to kick their asses for staring so coldly towards him. He glared as he arose from his seat. 

"I have to go, sorry..." Running out of the classroom was not difficult, especially with his lanky body; it was the strange and cold stares that made him feel out of place, his instincts telling him to hide away from the selfish beings. Tears were still making their way down his cheek, trying his hardest to try and hold it in. He didn't want to seem as pathetic as most people already thought he was. Running wasn't his best option, as he bumped into someone. Lance fell, rather violently, landing directly on the floor.

"Hey watch-oh. It's you, Lance. Hey, what's wrong?" The figure had a deep yet familiar voice. Only then did it click that the person he'd roughly bumped shoulders with, was in fact his "rival". Keith Kogane. The "better half" of the duo.

Keith had a black mullet, violet eyes and he  _always_ wore something red. "Sorry Keith...umm...I'm going to go now." Lance just wanted to get out of the school and to the safety of his bedroom, away from the prying eyes of the world, but his thoughts of safety were shattered when Keith grabbed his wrist and pulled him back unto his chest, the warmth having some sort of calming aura on him. "Lance? Tell me, what's wrong? It's not healthy to bottle up so many of your feelings for a long period of time." Keith lectured, only slightly, trying to show Lance that he was there for him, arms holding the lanky boy with no intent of letting him go any time soon. 

Lance, bless his fragile soul, buried his face into the shoulder of his "rival", sobbing quietly. Keith could feel his shirt getting soaked, shushing him. "Lance its okay...everything is going to be fine." He cooed while rubbing soothing circles in Lances back. Lance pulled out of the hug first, not sobbing anymore but tears still threatened to spill. "I want to go home..." He said simply, Keith nodding. He really wanted Lance to be out of a public space where people could judge him, after all...men were supposed to be the "strong" ones in society. Lance, no matter how hard he tried to deny it, could feel his knees slightly buckle. Keith took note and picked him up bridal style. "Whoa, you don't have to carry me! I have legs! I can walk!" Lance exclaimed, kicking his legs, trying to get Keith to put him down. "Lance, stop trying to be strong from once in your life. It's okay to be weak. Please stop wriggling. You're making it difficult." Said boy gave up and let Keith carry him out of the building – glaring at anyone who dare give them weird glances – on the path towards his house. Lance could feel his eyes start to grow weary, though he tried to fight off the sleepiness. He couldn't fight off the urge, and eventually fell into a blissful sleep in the Korean-Texan's arms. 

When Lance awoke, he was in his bed at his house...alone. He was still in the clothes from before, bringing up the scaring events from earlier. His body screamed not to, but he sat up any the less. Looking around at his room, he stalked his light blue walls, his bed that had been pushed into the corner of the room. He had a surfboard – back from when he lived in Cuba – leant against his wall, a picture of himself and Hunk grinning at the camera pined to the top of it. A few cupboards lined the walls where he kept his precious possessions, such as one of his mother's dresses, on the wall he had a few family photos everyone smiling, it broke his heart every time he saw it, and his dad's old guitar hanging next to his bed on the wall. Lance sometimes plays songs his dad taught him when he was seven years old. It was his way of keeping his beloved father alive.

Just then the door opened, and in walked Keith with two cups of hot chocolate. A small blush covered Lance's cheeks due to what Keith was wearing. One of his sweaters. The fabric was a tad long for the raven, but still made him cute none the less. "You're awake" he walked over to Lance and quietly placed the drinks on the bedside table. "How long was I asleep?" Lance questioned, picking up one of the cups, careful not to spill it. "Only a few hours." Keith stated. The former took a long sip of the hot liquid, the burning sensation sliding down his throat, soothing it. It made Lance feel warm. "Thank you for carrying me, I know I must be pretty heavy...sorry..."  he apologized. Though he knew Keith was strong, he was still sorry. "It's fine, you weren't actually that heavy." Keith reassured.

"Do you want to tell me why you were crying?" Keith asked, still concerned for his friend. Only a small part of him wanted Lance to open up, though he would deny it later if asked. The latter sighed, looking down at his navy-blue sheets, fingers fiddling with each other. "When...when I was eleven, my mom and dad were driving me home from my guitar lesson..." He paused, sucking in a deep breath. "...We were all smiling...laughing...having fun..." Lance paused again, this time, to let a sob rack through his body. "But...then a lorry came and-" Keith cut him off, he was hyperventilating. The former sat down next to the latter, wrapping one arm around his waist, and the other playing with the short strands of brown hair. "Calm down, Lance. Take your time, it's okay." After a few heart-wrenching sobs, Lance continued. "A lorry came...everything was in slow motion...it crashed into us..." Lance sobbed into Keith's shoulder, the memories re-surfing. Keith still played with his hair. "My...parents died...but no, not me...I just had to survive..." Keith, upon hearing this news, went tense and rigid. He'd known what it was like without parents, hell he was an orphan since the age of sixteen months. He released Lance's hair, drawing soothing patterns into his back. "It was my fault Keith...I couldn't do anything! I'm useless!"

"Lance." The statement came with a warning tone. Lance snapped shut. "You are  _not_ useless. It  _wasn't_ your fault. So, don't say it is. No matter what you're feeling." 

Lance cried for a while longer, letting every bottled emotion out.  _'Wow that felt good_ ', he thought. His eyes were puffy and red, his cheeks covered in tear-stains. "You should change, Lance. Something more comfortable than those nicely tight jeans?" Keith stood, smirk replacing his usual frown. Lance stuttered, blushed and choked, eyes wide. The Korean-Texan left downstairs to let the Cuban get dressed. 

Ten minutes later, Lance was walking down the wooden stairs, in a blue dog onesie. He plopped down next to Keith, sighing at how much more comfortable he was. "Uh...Mullet...if you don't mind...could you stay over tonight? My uncle is out and I don't want to be alone..." Ever since Lance's parents died, his uncle, Jeffery, moved in to 'look after' the poor boy. Though every single night for the past six years he'd come home with his friends, drunk and high. However, Lance preferred him in the house, at least then he wasn't alone. "Of course. I wasn't going to let you anyway. Nice pajamas by the way,  _puppy_." Again, that smirk was on Keith's face. Lance, yet again, couldn't form words until an idea formed in his head. His trademark, shit-eating grin appeared on his face. "I have a cat one upstairs. You have to wear that one." Keith's eyebrows raised. "Oh? And why do I  _have_ to?"

"Because you don't want me to be upset." Lance replied with ease. Keith huffed, why did this idiot have to be too damn cute?

The Cuban boy couldn't help but keep the grin on his face when Keith came down the stairs. He was dressed in the red cat onesie, ears flopping a little over his face. It was a little baggy, due to their height difference, but that only made it cuter. 

They both watched TV in Lance's room for a few hours, Keith eventually falling asleep first. Lance, staring at the sleeping body, laying down next to him. For the first time since his parents died, he felt one-hundred percent safe. Lance curled up to Keith's side, falling asleep, being cuddled by the mullet-boy.  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sooo someone in the comments left a really good sequel prompt, and i told cyrus (who originally wrote the story) and he really enjoyed it. i do apologise for how long it’s took me to edit and post, but y’know. better late than never yeah?

Lance was awoken by a stupidly loud ‘ _bang_ ’ from the front door, disturbing his rather comfortable slumber. He glanced down to see a knocked out Keith, his mullet framing his face at just the right angle. Loud curses floated through the floorboards, and a thought dawned on Lance in horror. His uncle, he was home way too early, and he had company. A thin sheen of sweat formed on Lance’s forehead, his body shaking with the ongoing effects of his current panic attack. _Fuck- he wasn’t supposed to be here!_

 

Lance got out of bed, pacing anxiously towards the door and leaning against it, in a futile attempt to keep it shut. His body was too lanky, too weightless, and if his uncle were to come bounding up the stairs and straight towards his room, he’d surely get in with an effortless push against the slab of wood keeping Lance away.

 

Keith groaned quietly, turning over to reach for the missing presence that had so thoughtfully kept him warm - but after finding he wasn’t there he opened an eye. “Lance?”

 

The Cuban looked up, sheer terror written all over his face. “He’s here...he’s here...” Keith had the audacity to even look confused. “Who’s here, Lance? Is it your-“

 

Footsteps. Loud and clear and echoing throughout the house. He’s coming, he’s here. Lance’s eyes widen, sobs shaking him to the very core. He slammed his hands over his mouth, an attempt to silence himself. Keith leaped out of the bed, skidding to a halt and slamming himself against the door - which was surprisingly silent.

 

He wrapped his arms around Lance, hugging him, protecting him, calming him. The Korean-Texan’s eyebrows came together, focusing all of his strength and energy to keep the door closed because so help him if that asshole of a family member came within contact of Lance-

 

The door handle jiggled, testing it. It was unlocked, like it always was due to the lack of a lock, and Lance managed to stop, mid panic attack, letting out a terrified whimper, seeking out Keith’s body to calm himself.

 

Then the door moved. A whole body thrown against it, trying to barrel it down. Keith’s back hurt with the impact, but he barely felt it at the time. The arms around Lance became tighter, almost unbreathable, but the latter didn’t care. He needed the warmth, the comfort, the pressure keeping him grounded.

 

“Lance, _mijo_ , open up. I have some friends I’d like you to meet.”

 

The Cuban flinched at the nickname, that very word haunting every passing moment when his eyes were closed. Keith stiffened up, from what he could tell earlier, there were at least four other people downstairs, and from what Lance had told him, probably drunk and high too. This meant that they were dangerous and the current enemy here.

 

The Korean-Texan’s eyes darted around the room, trying to come up with a solution. How could he get Lance out of here? Would it be reasonable to punch his uncle in the face? Yes, of course it would be reasonable, but would it be _possible_?

 

Another bang at the door. Lance flinched, grabbing at any clothing he could, desperate breaths not giving him the satisfaction of calming down.

 

Keith, all I have to do is keep close to me. It’s selfish, I know, but he’s here and I need him. He will protect me, he always has-

 

“Lance. I have some friends I want you to meet.” A pause, “Open the damn door you brat!”

 

There were a few snickers outside, Keith could hear them. His mind was whirring, trying to come up with some sort of plan- the window. Of course, the stupid window! How hadn’t he thought of it before?

 

“Lance..” Keith whispered, nudging the younger to make eye contact with him.

 

“Keith...”

 

“Lance, baby, you need to look at me. I’m going to get you out of here, okay?”

 

Lance tilted his head up, seeing the seriousness of his words in those gorgeous violet eyes. He nodded once, giving Keith a quick squeeze to show he was listening.

 

“You’re going to make your way to the window, and I’m going to need you to climb out, okay?” A whimpered followed, “I need you to do this Lance, it’s the only way to keep you safe.”

 

Keith, with every ounce of his willpower, pried the man off him, nudging him again, only this time in the direction of the window.

 

“Lance for fuck sake, open the goddamn door or I swear, when I get in there-“

 

The door flew open.

 

Lance’s uncle, and the predicted four “friends” barrelled into the room, only to find one person. And it wasn’t Lance.

 

“Where the fuck is Lance?”

 

“He’s not home, but he did tell me to give you a message.” Keith arose from his place on Lance’s bed, a tormenting smirk plastered on his face.

 

“You promised me Lance, Milo.” A young man, probably nineteen, with white, long hair stated, scowling at what Keith presumed was Lance’s uncle.

 

“Yes, I know, Lotor. But how the fuck am I supposed to know where he is-“

 

“Never mind that. We have a new toy.” Another smirked, licking his disgustingly chapped lips and looking at Keith, staring him up and down.

 

Keith subtly gulped, at least two of the friends could be a serious threat, not to mention Lance’s uncle. Well, he had to do it. For Lance.

 

Taking a fighting stance, raising his fists, Keith eyed up his opponents. “He told me to tell you to fuck yourself,” a grin pulled at his lips, “and he hopes to see you in hell.”

 

He threw the first punch.

 

_ **-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-** _

 

Lance waited patiently, pacing the garden until his feet were raw, occasionally glancing up at his bedroom window. Keith had been there for over an hour, and he was contemplating going back in.

 

Making his way back to the house, Lance froze when the door opened. Keith stepped out, bruises colouring his face, bloodied knuckles and cuts littering his body. He was carrying Lance’s guitar, his moms dress, and the polaroid photos Lance _always_ had pinned up.

 

Keith had a genuine smile, stumbling a little towards Lance, the hand carrying his guitar held towards him.

 

Lance grabbed the guitar on reflex, wide eyed and open mouthed as he stared at this absolute god in front of him. “My mom’s going to adopt you, and you’re staying with me.” Keith kept his hand held out, insisting that he hold his hand.

 

The Cuban’s mouth split into the widest smile that Keith had ever seen, and he grabbed his outstretched hand, intertwining their fingers.

 

“Thank you...”

 

_**-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-** _

 

“Mom! Stop embarrassing me!” Keith whined, trying desperately to grab the photo album out of his mother’s hands. Krolia chuckled, only holding it out of his reach and flipping a page.

 

Lance smiled softly, pointing to a photo of Keith with his dad, grinning madly at the camera.

 

“He’s your boyfriend Keith, I have to show him your childhood!”

 

Keith groaned rather loudly, falling into Lance’s lap with a sigh. “Please look away...” he whined, poking Lance’s cheek to get his attention to turn towards him.

 

“Sorry, _baby_ , no can do.”

 

“You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

 

“I’m afraid not, babe.” Lance replied, snickering at Keith’s pout. He leaned forward, lightly pressing his lips to his boyfriends. He couldn’t go too far, what with his probable future mother-in-law sat three feet away.

 

A click sound made the two pull away, Krolia smiling devilishly as she held the camera close to her chest. “What? It’s for the wedding!”

 

It was safe to say that neither objected to the idea of them getting married, nor did they ever worry about Krolia spotting them at awkward times for more photos to put in another photo album.

 

Lance managed to get support for his PTSD, and managed to give himself the peace he was longing for once visiting his parents’ grave. He goes there every Saturday, Keith and Krolia in tow, as they all communicate with them, telling them stories of what had happened over the years they had been dead.

 

Keith would tell them stories on how Lance was doing, and how brave he was in that situation that got him free. Lance would blush madly, to which Krolia would coo at them for their “adorableness”.

 

After beating the five men that caused Lance hell, Keith had called the police to apprehend them. They now rot the jail, and no one, would _ever_ have to fear them again.


End file.
